Marcus pulled up close. "Talk to me," he said quietly. "What's going through that head of yours?"
"Calculating the precise temperature needed to induce hypothermia." The words came out shaky. "And remembering that drowning actually feels peaceful at the end. The body—"
He remained perfectly still, his presence anchoring me more effectively than any safety line. His hand quivered slightly at his side like he wanted to reach for me but didn't know if he should.
"Stay with me here," he said quietly. "Focus on me, not everything else."
I dragged my eyes up to meet his. The intensity there grounded me more effectively than any statistical analysis.
"You're not alone in this."
I nodded once, letting the truth of it sink in. The water no longer was like an enemy waiting to drag me under. It wasonly water—hydrogen and oxygen in its liquid state, moving according to precise physical laws.
I stayed there for another minute, long enough to prove I could. Then, I stepped back, each movement deliberate until the water merely swirled around my ankles.
Marcus followed, water streaming from his shoulders as he reached for the towel he'd left on the shore. He draped it around my shoulders without comment.
I raised a fist in triumph—raw and unexpected. The water hadn't won. For the first time since hands had forced me under decades ago, I'd chosen to face it on my terms.
Marcus squeezed my shoulder once, then turned to gather his gear. I caught the smile he tried to hide and how he looked at me when he thought I wasn't watching.
***
Later in the morning, the firehouse greeted us with a different kind of heat. It smelled of steel, sweat, and old stories. The place was like a living thing, stitched together by routine and adrenaline, and for the first time, I realized how little I knew about that part of Marcus's life.
Peterson was the first to approach, his grin sharp but his eyes flicking to me with a weight I couldn't ignore. Not judgment, exactly, but something close—an assessment, like he was deciding whether he could trust me filling up space in Marcus's orbit.
His handshake was firm, the kind that saiddon't screw this upwithout needing words.
Barrett emerged from the kitchen, tossing Marcus a protein bar that he caught without looking. "Try not to drown, boss."
"That's what the water wings are for." Marcus pocketed the bar.
Finally, Captain Walsh stepped out from his office, his presence cutting through the room with understated authority. His gaze swept over us. He didn't smile, only gave a curt nod before stepping closer.
"Keep your head on straight in Idaho." No platitudes. No sugarcoating.
Marcus nodded, slipping into that version of himself I'd seen at fires before—all sharp edges and quiet focus. When Walsh turned to me, his eyes softened." Watch his back." Simple. Direct. Like an order he stamped on my chest.
As we turned to leave, every gaze followed us. It wasn't with suspicion. It was something fiercer. A silent reminder that Marcus wasn't only mine. He belonged here too, stitched into the lives of the people who would run headlong into a fire for him without a second thought.
When we returned, Michael was waiting in Marcus's apartment, pacing between the kitchen and living room like a caged predator. His SWAT training showed in how he positioned himself—back to the wall, sight lines clear to all entry points.
The air thickened with unspoken agitation the moment we entered.
I exhaled slowly. "You couldn't even pretend to stay out of it?"
Michael's gaze cut toward me, sharp enough to draw blood. "Yeah, that's cute. No."
Marcus dropped his gear bag with a dull thud. "What do you want, Michael?"
"I'm coming with you." Michael's stance widened, shoulders squaring like he was preparing for a tactical breach. "And before you start arguing, remember I've got Ma's number on speed dial."
"We've got it handled."
Michael barked out a harsh laugh. "Handled? Like you handled the gym fire? Or your sabotaged equipment?" Hestepped closer, voice dropping. "You don't have shit handled, and you know it."
The tension crackled between them like an electrical fire waiting to flash. Years of brotherhood and stubbornness collided in the space between heartbeats.
